<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Make Kingdoms by starwarned</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810877">Make Kingdoms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned'>starwarned</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>COC 2020, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Countdown 2020, Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Carry on Countdown Day 17, CoC, DAY 17 - Blanket Fort, Fluff, M/M, Pillow &amp; Blanket Forts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:07:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27810877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwarned/pseuds/starwarned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carry On Countdown Day 17 - Blanket Fort</p>
<p>“You make kingdoms and castles on your own.” - Stephan Jenkins</p>
<p>Baz comes home to find Simon inside a castle of his own making.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020 [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Carry On Countdown 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make Kingdoms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t understand Simon’s thought process (or lack thereof) a majority of the time. He often skips to conclusions that I don’t get to through the same set of circumstances. Today is no exception. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But quite a different end result. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I take a step in the door to Penelope and Simon’s flat and am greeted by a bright pink sheet. I blink and step back into the doorway to allow myself a moment to adjust to this new scenario I’ve been presented with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pink sheet wrapped around the coat rack that’s right beside the front door and it stretches across the living room to the bookshelf where it’s been haphazardly taped. With a closer look, I can see that the entire room has endured the same treatment - blankets and sheets (and I think a tablecloth) have been torn from their previous homes to create… a blanket fort in the center of the living space. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve only heard stories of children creating blanket forts. Never did I think I would be subject to one without Mordelia’s involvement. I should have known better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you coming in?” asks Simon’s disembodied voice from somewhere inside the soft fortress. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose so,” I reply, stepping in the door and shutting it behind me. I slip my shoes off and drop my jacket and bag at the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A mop of lovely curly hair pops up from behind a blanket that’s been draped over the edge of the couch and I grin at seeing even that much of my boyfriend. The rest of his head and his shoulders follow soon after. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says. He seems… not himself. He has that look in his eye that makes me assume he’s spent the entire afternoon on the sofa, drinking cider and watching some trashy reality television program. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” I say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mere.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, then survey the scene. “I’m not sure I know how,” I say, after a moment. “What’s the proper entrance?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon shrugs. “Find one.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I hold back a snarky comment and instead kneel down to try and find an easy way in. There’s an opening where two of the sheets meet so I sneak in through there and crawl on my hands and knees (grateful that I’m not wearing my </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>tight jeans) to get to Simon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The middle part of this blanket fort is impressively large. Simon has managed to include the sofa, part of the armchair, the telly, and several large pillows that are usually housed in Penelope’s room. I wonder if she knows that they’ve been commandeered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s wrapped up in my old Watford football hoodie and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twilight </span>
  </em>
  <span>Snuggie that I bought him for his birthday. (I’m not too big to say that the giant Edward Cullen emblazoned on his front isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing it for me.) He’s got his back pressed up against the front of the sofa and he’s surrounded by the throw pillows that typically decorate it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, love,” I say gently, crawling over so I can sit next to him. My jeans are uncomfortably tight in a cross-legged position, but if Simon’s in the mood for it, I might get to take my jeans off quite soon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon grunts as a way to acknowledge my presence. He tucks his knees up and crosses his arms over the tops of them so he can lean his head there and look at me. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rest my head on his shoulder, leaning my body into his. “Why the sudden interest in architecture?” I ask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs, jostling me in the process. “Needed something to do. And it’s nice in here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “It is,” I agree. “Is Bunce home?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does she know that you’ve turned the living room into a fluffy citadel?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he mumbles, ducking his head down. “I didn’t want to ask her.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smile and lift my head up so I can kiss his cheek. “As is your right,” I say. “She’s come home to worse.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon smiles a bit at that and I’m always proud when I make Simon smile (and it’s breathtakingly lovely when he does. He’s got these cute little crooked teeth and his cheeks are so round I want to pinch them). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>We’re silent for a while. I drop my head back down to Simon’s shoulder and stretch my legs out in front of me. Simon lets one of his legs slide down next to mine so he can press them together. It’s tender. And after a bit, I can feel his tail wrap around my waist and tug me in a bit closer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I wrap my leg around the top of Simon’s. “Would you like to talk about it?” I ask. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He seems to think about it. Then he looks at me and shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “That’s fine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>We spend another moment in silence. It’s not uncomfortable. Silence with Simon usually isn’t. He’s not one for words (at least not as much as I am), so we spend a lot of our time in the quiet. Or we’ve got our tongues so far down each other’s throats that we couldn’t talk even if we wanted to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to snog about it?” I ask, a playful tone in my voice that I don’t bother trying to get rid of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Simon slaps the top of my thigh. “Horny bastard,” he mumbles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I grin. “That doesn’t answer my question.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>answer my question is Simon immediately turning, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt, and yanking me into a bruising kiss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And I was right. My jeans are discarded only minutes later. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>